


Bulletproof

by GoldenWaffles



Series: Trophyverse [4]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, But like the in-universe Alternate Universe, F/F, Hair Braiding, Hospital Visit, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Nicole Haught Needs A Hug, One Shot, Pining, Waverly to the rescue, Wistful, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29300922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenWaffles/pseuds/GoldenWaffles
Summary: Waverly is used to thinking of the sheriff as powerful. Authoritative. Cool. Confident. Strong. Fearless. Bulletproof. But when one day she doesn't call in her usual lunch order, Waverly tracks her down and finds her lying, hurt and alone, in a hospital bed. Sheriff Haught couldn't be happier to see her, and for some strange reason, Waverly just can't pull herself away...Takes place in the theoretical universe created by the hockey trophy in "Gone As a Girl Can Get," when Wynonna was haphazardly erased from the timeline and Waverly was engaged to Perry.
Relationships: Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Series: Trophyverse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1344040
Comments: 34
Kudos: 179





	Bulletproof

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, has it been a hot minute since I posted to this series or what? This thing has actually been sitting, half-finished, in a document since June 2019. Which interestingly, means that it took just about 18 months, 3 weeks, and 4 days for me to finish. Do we have a word for that yet? I feel like we should have a word for that.  
> I know I just posted two other updates, and maybe people are distracted today by the 4B trailer dropping, but hey, it's ready now, so why wait? Who's up for some toasty, delicious, requited but unspoken pining? Hopefully everyone here! So with no further ado, please enjoy the show.

* * *

It all started with nothing. That is to say, it started with something that _didn’t_ happen. That is to say, it started with Waverly _not_ getting a call that day with the sheriff’s lunch order.

That in itself wasn’t _unheard of_. Sometimes the sheriff would lose track of the day and not realize that the lunch hour was approaching, and then Shorty’s would get a flustered and apologetic call at 12:02 and they would all laugh about it. But now it was 12:23 and there had been no phone call. Waverly had even picked up the phone to check the dial tone, but it didn’t seem broken. The absence was unsettling, like a clock that had stopped ticking.

And nobody else seemed to care in the slightest.

“No, but she _always_ calls,” Waverly insisted to her coworker Jeff, practically tearing her hair out at everyone’s unconscionable apathy.

“Maybe she… brought her own lunch today?” Jeff said with a shrug, casually flipping a burger on the grill, clearly not appreciating the gravity of the situation.

“No, see, because she calls even when she’s _not_ going to order lunch, so that we know not to start making anything for her.” That sounded conclusive to Waverly, but Jeff seemed unmoved by her concrete evidence.

“Maybe she called in sick,” Jeff suggested, dropping a piece of cheese over the burger. Waverly wanted to grab him and shake him.

“Have you even _met_ Sheriff Haught? She _never_ calls in sick. Last winter, she caught walking pneumonia and _still_ walked to work in waist-high snow.”

Jeff blinked dully at her.

“That’s dumb.”

Waverly bristled.

“She’s just dedicated.” She remembered the day clearly. The hoarse voice on the other end of the phone had been barely recognizable. Ignoring whatever the actual order had been, she had instead delivered an enormous container of chicken soup, then spent a full hour trying to convince the stubborn sheriff to accept a ride home. “But see, that’s why she _can’t_ have called in sick. It’s _not_ possible.” Waverly paced the length of the kitchen, hands on her hips.

“So… call her? If you’re so worried?” Jeff said, more question than suggestion. It was an obvious solution, but Waverly felt unsure. It felt like one bridge too far. An over-reaction. Plus, it was probably a misdemeanor to call the police non-emergency number just to ask if they wanted _lunch_.

And as for her personal number? Well… she _did_ have the sheriff’s cell number, written on a business card and tucked away for safe keeping. But she had only used it once before, alone and crying on a park bench on her not-wedding day. This didn’t seem nearly that dire.

So she went back to work, one eye watching the clock, one ear listening for the phone, waiting for the universe to right itself.

Waiting.

And _waiting_.

“Oh, screw this.” She threw down her dishtowel and picked up her coat, calling to Jeff, “I’m taking ten and going for a walk! Watch the counter!”

“But it’s freezing outsi—” she heard his bewildered voice, before slamming the door shut behind her.

He wasn’t wrong. The second she stepped outside, the icy wind whipped her face, making her cheeks sting.

 _It’s refreshing_ , she lied to herself, shoving her hands deep into her pockets and hurrying down the sidewalk. _It was stuffy in the bar and the fresh air is invigorating. I needed this._

It was too cold for snow, but a layer of hard frost covered everything. She pulled the collar of her coat higher to block the wind and struck off with determination towards the police station.

When she reached it, she felt so silly that she almost turned around without going inside, but turning around seemed even sillier, and it was too cold to just stand outside waffling, so she pushed through the doors.

The interior was mercifully warm, and Waverly felt herself relax slightly as she entered. One of the officers— Lenny? Lonnie?— was at the front desk, looking more than a little bewildered by the paperwork in front of him. This wasn’t unusual. Once, after what must have been a particularly frustrating day, the sheriff had let spill that he was the least competent officer she had ever met, although she appreciated that his heart was in the right place.

Lonnie didn’t look up for several seconds after she had entered, until she faked a cough. He jumped, and she gave him a small, apologetic wave.

“Hey. Hi. It’s just me. Um… is the sheriff around? Not that it’s an emergency or anything. It’s not.” Her pulse raced, and she found herself speaking faster, practically babbling a fake explanation. “I just, um… I just had this… message! Yeah, a message to give to her. And I was going to tell her during lunch, but she never called, so I thought I’d just… come over. And tell her. The message. If she’s here. Which… I mean, why wouldn’t she be here? She’s the sheriff, and it’s the sheriff’s office, right?”

Lonnie was now staring at her like he was wondering if he should call her an ambulance. She cleared her throat and made herself look calmer and more serious.

“So…” she said, gravely. “Is she here?”

Lonnie blinked, then seemed to finish processing what she had asked.

“Oh. Um… no, she’s not here right now.”

“She isn’t?” Waverly felt her eyebrows knit together, scrunching in worry and confusion. The sheriff was _always_ in the station at noon. “Where is she?”

“Hospital,” he explained shortly. Waverly’s frown deepened.

“Did someone get hurt or something?” She imagined an accident, or an attack, which might require Sheriff Haught to go to the hospital and interview the victim. “Will she be back soon?”

“Um… no. She says they don’t think they need to do surgery, but they want to keep her overnight for observation,” Lonnie said, sounding like it was the worst news he’d received in his entire life. With dawning horror, Waverly’s mind started to catch up to what he was saying.

“They want to keep _who_ overnight?” she asked, suddenly terrified of the answer. He gave her an odd look.

“Sheriff Haught. She got hurt on a call.”

Waverly suddenly felt sick. Her stomach squirmed like it was tying itself in knots, and ice-cold dread flushed through her entire body.

“Oh.” She blinked back the dizziness and swallowed against the rolling nausea. Hurt. _She_ was _hurt_. “Um… is she going to be okay?” Her voice trembled on its way out.

“Yeah. Well, she says so, anyway. She sounded kinda out of it, but that was probably just the drugs, or blood loss…”

 _Blood loss…_ Waverly’s vision tunneled, and there was a rushing sound in her ears.

“Right… Thanks, Lonnie.” She assumed he was done speaking, and turned and fled outside. She needed air, or she was going to pass out. This time, she didn’t even notice the cold.

It was still early in the day, and the saloon was only going to get busier as they passed lunch and approached dinner and the after-work rush, but if she called all her coworkers and begged them to cover her shift, she could…

…she could what?

She abruptly realized she was already halfway through plans to leave work and go directly to the hospital. It seemed so strange, and yet so obvious. She _had_ to go see her, to see that she was okay, that she was in one piece, that she was still smiling. It was _important_. More important than finishing a stupid work shift.

Nicole Haught was _hurt_.

She returned to Shorty’s, but couldn’t hold still, pacing the length of the bar while Jeff stared at her in bewilderment. She felt sick, and too hot, and too cold, and so, so, so _scared_. Like something was trying to claw its way out of her.

_Why?_

“Are you feeling okay?” Jeff asked after her seventh lap, after she jostled and nearly knocked over an entire tray of drying glasses.

She was about to snap at him, but halfway to a cranky retort, she instead grasped onto the idea with both hands.

“No!” she said— too forcefully, judging by the way he jolted back. She forced herself to soften her tone. “I mean… No, I’m not really feeling well. I think maybe I should go home. I’m going to call around and see if I can find someone to cover.”

“Um… I can do that, if you want to just leave,” Jeff said, pointing weakly towards the door. She was surprised by the offer, but he looked legitimately nervous about how weird she was acting, so it was probably made out of self-preservation as much as kindness.

Under normal circumstances, she would have insisted on making the calls herself, sparing him the inconvenience, but today, she barely called a “Thank you!” before grabbing her coat and nearly running out to her Jeep.

It was a short drive to the hospital, made shorter by ignoring the speed limit. When she pulled into the parking lot, however, she hesitated in her car, as though she’d come to her senses all at once.

Had she really left work and driven all this way? For the sheriff? Would they even let her _see_ her? She wasn’t family— they were only even _friends_ at a stretch. What would she say? _“Hi, I’m here to see Sheriff Haught. I’m her **bartender**.”_

Ludicrous.

And yet…

The thought that somewhere in that hospital, Nicole Haught was lying in a room, drugged-up and injured and alone was far more powerful than one potentially awkward encounter with a receptionist.

* * *

In the end, there hadn’t been any need for deception. She marched in and immediately asked after Nicole Haught, and the receptionist took one look at her face and scribbled down a room number and directions. She must have looked as scared as she felt.

When she reached the room, for just a moment, she lurked in the doorway, gazing in at the figure on the bed.

The two of them saw each other almost every day, but this was different. Usually, Haught was in full uniform, scarcely a hair out of place (although she did have the scandalous habit of leaving the top few buttons of her shirt undone). Now, dirt-streaked and windswept, wearing a tank top that had seen better days, she barely resembled the proud and polished Sheriff of Purgatory.

Still, the most striking difference wasn’t her clothes, but her expression. Waverly saw the sheriff nearly every day, and nearly every day, she just radiated smiles and confidence. She was soft in her own way, but powerful, too. Full of authority. Proud. Strong. Fearless.

Bulletproof.

This Haught was emphatically _not_ bulletproof. This Haught was entirely susceptible to bullets— and knives and claws and teeth and every other kind of danger Purgatory had to offer. Her face was drawn, her expression some toxic mix of frustrated and sad and scared, all three underlined with a palpable level of pain. It made Waverly’s heart freeze in her chest.

She would have done anything, given anything to wipe that look off her face.

She started by walking through the door.

“Knock knock.” On the way in, she tapped it in a barely audible knock. Haught looked up, and for a moment just blinked at her in surprise, startled temporarily out of her dark mood.

“Uh... Who’s there?” she asked, her words slightly slurred. For a moment, Waverly felt a jolt of fear, that maybe she had amnesia or brain damage and didn’t recognize her, but then she realized the confusion.

“Oh. Uh, me. Sorry. Wasn’t making a knock-knock joke. Just... knocking. Hi.” She felt far more awkward than the situation really called for, but seeing the sheriff splayed out and injured on a hospital bed was really doing a number on her nerves.

“Hi.” Haught seemed to rouse herself, blinking and straightening, inadvertently giving Waverly a better view of the damage. Her entire shoulder was one giant mottled bruise, and a long streak of angry red was burned down the side of her face. There were smears of dried blood on her tank top, although the source wasn’t clear. Plus, there was no telling what other damage was hidden by her clothes or blanket. Her eyes, usually so bright and expressive, were glazed and dull, but she was clearly making a valiant attempt to focus on her surprise visitor.

Silenced by the lump in her throat, Waverly didn’t say anything else, and Haught squinted at her in the uneasy silence. “Are you really here?”

“Am I... what?”

Haught continued looking at her like she didn’t trust her own eyes.

“Real.” She seemed to pick up on the disconnect and explained. “I’m on a _lot_ of drugs right now. You could be a hallucination. I’m not counting anything out.”

Waverly burst into a short, possibly inappropriate giggle at the accusation.

“Nope, totally real and definitely here, I promise.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you be here?” The sheriff sounded wary and unconvinced.

“Standard operating procedure,” Waverly said, mock-seriously. “You missed lunch.”

Haught looked bemused.

“I’ve been a little busy today,” she said.

“So I heard.” Waverly approached the bed, but didn’t sit down. “When you didn’t call, I thought something might be wrong, and Lonnie told me you had been called out for something dangerous and ended up here, so...”

“You were worried about me?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Oh.” It was a surprised, pleased word. “That’s sweet. Thank you.”

“For worrying?”

“For caring.”

The emptiness of the room gnawed at Waverly. No visitors. No flowers. For reasons she couldn’t fathom, the personable sheriff didn’t seem to have any particularly close friends, or any family that anyone knew of. Everyone liked her, but as far as Waverly knew, she didn’t have much of anything in the way of a support system. Especially since Nedley had died. It was an easy thing to forget. Every time Waverly saw her, she was full of beaming smiles and heartfelt interest, but that somehow never translated into anything more than a wide circle of acquaintances.

“That looks like it hurts.”

Haught blinked blearily at her.

“What does?”

“Your shoulder.” Haught’s brown eyes followed her gaze down to the massive bruise.

“Oh. It’s not so bad.” A lock of red hair slid forward and brushed against the fresh burn, and she reflexively reached up to brush it back. But her arm had barely moved before her whole face clenched in a gasp of pain and she dropped it. “Okay, never mind. Kinda bad.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, no big deal.” Her jaw was still locked against the pain, but she seemed to be breathing through it. “I’ve had worse. I mean, it’s not as bad as being shot.”

Waverly felt a ripple of cold shock.

“You were shot?! When?” she demanded.

“I…” With her good arm, Haught touched a spot on her chest, then shook her head, confused. “I don’t… No… I wasn’t. I guess I meant… hypothetically.” She let her hand continue up and brush the stray hair back away from the burn, still looking a bit puzzled at herself. Waverly relaxed slightly.

“Well, I’m sure it’s _hypothetically_ not as bad as a shark attack either, but it still has to suck.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“What _did_ happen?” Waverly asked.

“We got a call about this condemned warehouse just outside town. People said they saw smoke coming from it, and some kind of sulphur smell… I figured it was some rednecks trying to set up a meth lab or something, but when I went to check it out…” The sheriff frowned. “I think it was some kinda guard dog. Weird, though. Big. And fast. It moved… weird. I called Black Badge for backup, but I think whoever was in the warehouse took off when they saw me. So… mission accomplished, I guess.” She sounded sarcastic, like she wasn’t happy with how it had all gone down.

“Well, it sounds like you did everything you could,” Waverly told her, firmly but reassuringly. “Now you should just focus on resting up and getting better.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Her head slumped forward for a beat before she roused herself, blinking, with a small sigh of annoyance or frustration.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s just the drugs they gave me. I’ve been fading in and out all day.” She yawned. “Which is probably good. Helps pass the time, anyway.”

“Do you have to stay here for long?” Waverly asked, looking around the room. It was bare and sterile, just clear counters and empty chairs and some bits of medical equipment mounted to the wall. It didn’t offer much in the way of distraction. “I could bring you a book or something. If you wanted anything. To keep from getting bored.”

Haught’s eyes, tired but warm, met hers with something approaching wonder.

“You’d do that? You’d come back?” Her voice was soft and a little bit awestruck.

“Among my many other impressive job titles, I _am_ a delivery girl. Woman.” She corrected herself quickly, feeling silly, but Haught just grinned at her, amused.

“A delivery girl-woman?” she teased. Waverly felt her cheeks heating, but raised her head defiantly, owning it.

“Yes. And as an accomplished delivery girl-woman, it’s my sacred duty to deliver things to my customers. And you are by far by best and most loyal customer.”

“Damn straight,” she agreed instantly, and Waverly smothered a laugh at the audible pride in her voice.

“Okay, so… what should I deliver?”

“Hm… good question.” Haught paused to mull over the question for a long moment. “Okay, I’d like to place an order… for one book.”

“Which book?” Waverly could stop by the library later if it was one she didn’t have. Or maybe Haught would want one from her own house. She felt a small rush of curiosity and excitement at the thought of seeing the inside of her home. But the sheriff refused to be that straightforward.

“You pick. One that you like. One that you’d like me to read,” she said instead.

“One that _I_ like?” Waverly asked, arching an eyebrow. Haught nodded. “ _Any_ book?”

“Yep. Any book you want. Maybe one of your favorites. Or one you’ve been dying to talk to someone about.”

Waverly felt a tug at her heart.

“Okay. I’ll pick one out for you,” she promised.

Haught smiled at her words, but it was clear that she was starting to fade. Her brown eyes kept slipping out of focus, and her head would nod forward for a moment before she blinked herself back awake with a sharp breath.

“Sorry,” she murmured once, after it happened again.

“It’s okay,” Waverly said. “You should listen to your body. If it’s telling you needs sleep, then you should sleep.”

“Stupid body always wants things it shouldn’t,” Haught mumbled back, her voice so low and half-slurred it was possible she hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all.

“Well I say you should listen to it. Close your eyes. Get some rest.”

Haught either obeyed or was too tired to resist. With an exhausted sigh, her eyes slipped shut and she sank back a little into her pillow.

“Stay a minute? Till I fall asleep?” she asked, her voice already sounding more than halfway there. Waverly felt her heart squeeze at the request, nearly stealing her breath.

“Of course. And then I’ll come back later with that book, okay?”

Haught gave a small, pleased-sounding hum of acknowledgement, and then, without further ado, fell completely still and silent.

Waverly meant to leave right away— after all, she wasn’t doing either of them any good by just standing around while Haught was sound asleep and oblivious to her presence— but found herself lingering a few minutes, watching her. There was something almost hypnotic about it— the deep, steady breathing, making the blankets rise and fall in a gentle rhythm. It almost made Waverly feel sleepy herself, like she could just lie down next to her in the bed and drift away in the cadence of it.

But that was a silly thought. She had slept fine the night before, and wasn’t even tired. And she and the sheriff were barely even friends, they certainly weren’t on _sleepover_ terms. This wasn’t grade school.

Shaking her head at herself, she dragged herself away from the peaceful room and made herself go back home.

She had a book to pick out, after all.

* * *

Choosing a book for Sheriff Haught had turned out to be a _far_ more complicated task than Waverly had expected. Because in reality, she really didn’t know much about the woman. She had guesses— _scores_ of guesses, some of them _extremely_ specific— but in the end, she overthought her way into some fairly generic choices.

The main one was a dense but engrossing history of the Ghost River Triangle. She really _had_ been dying to talk to someone about that one, and it was possible that as the town sheriff, Haught might have an interest in learning the local history.

But then she thought of the sheriff’s head nodding forward, her eyes half-focused, and wondered if maybe something a little lighter would be better. After a short internal debate, she picked a paperback romance off the shelf at random.

As she headed out the door, her phone buzzed and she picked it up, for a second wondering if Haught might be texting her with an update (before she realized that the sheriff was probably asleep and had never texted her before in her life). It was Perry, and the sight of his name on the screen gave her a small, unpleasant jolt.

_— Hey, I’m just finishing up here. I’ll meet you at the restaurant in about an hour, okay? —_

“Oh fudgenuggets,” she said, looking down at the message in mild horror. She had forgotten that she had made plans with Perry. She was tempted to cancel, but _god_ , she had already canceled on him so many times, she really owed him a real date. He deserved it.

She looked down at the books in her hand.

Well, she would just have to make this visit a short one.

* * *

“Hey!” Sheriff Haught grinned as she entered the doorway, her whole face lighting up with it. Waverly relaxed a little at the sight. Her eyes were brighter and sharper than they had been earlier in the day, and her voice sounded clearer. “You came back! You’re a delivery girl-woman of your word.”

“I am,” Waverly agreed, smiling back automatically. The sheriff’s improved mood was contagious. “And I come bearing gifts.” She held up the pair of books.

“ _Two_ books? Now that’s service. I only ordered one.”

“I know. First I grabbed this one,” she tapped on the first book, the comprehensive if slightly long-winded history text. “But then I thought, you know, you’re injured and heavily drugged, so you might want something a little lighter, so I—” She trailed off as she saw the sheriff’s face tightening against some invisible pain, her smile fading into a grimace. “Hey, are you okay?”

Haught rallied instantly, smile returning, although Waverly could tell that her jaw was still clenched.

“Fine,” she claimed. “I’m just… a little less heavily drugged than earlier.”

“Should I call someone? A doctor or—” Waverly started, her concern rising, but Haught shook her head.

“No, it’s okay. I asked them to dial it back a little. I don’t like feeling sedated. And those kinds of drugs always give me the weirdest dreams.” She forced another smile. “But _you_ are a more than welcome distraction. Here, let me see what you brought.” She scooted to the far side of the bed and patted the empty space beside her. Whether it was meant for Waverly to sit there herself or just set the books there, it wasn’t clear, but it didn’t really matter anyway.

“Oh, um… actually…”

“Something wrong?” Haught prompted her, still clearly waiting for her to approach and settle in.

“Um… I can’t stay long. Sorry. I should have said right away. I just… I told Perry I would meet him soon, so…”

The sheriff was clearly too caught off-guard to properly mask her face falling, and Waverly nearly died of guilt on the spot. For just a moment, Haught looked from the empty spot on the bed to the books in her hand to the clock on the wall, visibly crushed. But within seconds, she was forcing another smile onto her face, this one abashed.

“Oh! Uh, yeah, that makes sense. I mean, look at you, you’re dressed so nice,” she waved her good hand in Waverly’s direction. “I, uh… Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m really sorry—”

“No, no, please, it’s fine. I mean, it’s great of you to come at all. Thanks for bringing me the books. Really. It’ll give me something to do tonight.” The end of the sentence was followed by the silent yet palpable implication, _while I’m lying here, alone and in pain_. “Um… so how long can you stay? Or… are you just dropping them off? Which would be fine, obviously. You don’t have to stay at all.”

Sheriff Haught was many things, but she obviously _wasn’t_ a natural liar. Her assurances sounded forced, and her questions rang with a hint of desperation.

She wanted Waverly to stay.

She didn’t want to be alone.

“Maybe a few minutes,” Waverly said, guilt and sympathy gnawing at her heart.

“Okay.” Haught seemed to relax slightly at the news, but her smile remained forced. There was a beat of awkward silence. “Um… you said you went to the station earlier today? To look for me?”

“Yeah. I was out for a walk anyway, and I thought I’d check.”

“And it wasn’t… on fire or anything, right?”

“No. The guy there… Lonnie?” She guessed at the name and waited for Haught’s nod of verification. “He looked a little overwhelmed, but it didn’t look like any actual crisis was happening.”

“That’s good. I was worried about leaving him in charge, but I didn’t really have a choice. We still need to hire a new deputy to replace me, but everything’s been so crazy…”

Waverly nodded, the awkwardness of the moment easing as they fell into their normal rhythm of small talk.

“Yeah, you guys always seem crazy swamped. Having someone else would really help. And hey, maybe then you could come back into Shorty’s for lunch instead of having to always eat at your desk.”

Haught brightened slightly at this, as though the thought had real appeal.

“That’s true. I hadn’t thought about that. Well, hopefully it won’t be too much longer.” The stray lock of hair fell forward as she tilted her head, falling onto the burn and making Haught visibly tense and blow a hiss of discomfort through her teeth.

Waverly caught herself starting to step forward, as though to help somehow, but was stopped by the buzz of her phone. She pulled it out and saw a new message from Perry.

— _Just about to head out. See you there??_ —

“Time to go, huh?” Haught said. Waverly looked up and caught the wry, unconvincing smile on her face.

“Um… Yeah. Sorry. Really. I wish I could stay longer.” The words were truer than Haught would ever know, truer than Waverly could really justify, even to herself.

“No, it’s okay. I’ve got the books now, and I think they’re going to let me go home in the morning, or at least sometime tomorrow. I’ll be fine.” The fake smile softened a little, turning more genuine. “But thanks for coming. Really. It… really means a lot to me. It was good to see you.”

“You too…” Her phone buzzed again.

— _Babe? Are you on your way?_ —

“It’s okay. Have a nice time,” Haught wished her, and the words made her feel oddly guilty.

“Thanks. Um… Rest up, and I guess I’ll see you in a few days, right? At noon sharp?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Okay…” Waverly could tell that she was stalling, trying to come up with a reason to ignore her phone and stay. But she couldn’t find one. “Well… Bye…”

* * *

With every step towards the parking lot, Waverly felt more and more sure that she was headed in the wrong direction. This was wrong. Leaving was wrong. She was _supposed_ to be in the hospital room, keeping the sheriff’s spirits up, comforting her in her time of need.

By the time she reached her car, her decision was made.

She leaned against the Jeep and dialed Perry’s number. She already felt guilty for canceling, but the guilt paled in comparison to the _relief_ she felt at the thought of going back to the sheriff’s room. She could already imagine the surprise and relief and joy on Haught’s face when she came back and told her that she had changed her mind, that she actually _could_ stay. That she wouldn’t have to be there alone.

“Hey babe,” Perry’s cheerful voice came through the phone.

“Hey Per. Um… I know I promised I’d meet you after work, but… um…”

“Uh-oh,” Perry sighed. “Let me guess, something’s come up and you have to cancel? Again?” He didn’t sound mad, just tired. Waverly winced.

“Yes. Sorry. But it’s _really_ important this time, I swear. I’m at the hospital.”

“YOU’RE _WHAT_?!” came his frantic shout, and Waverly realized how that must have sounded.

“Oh, no, God, not for me. I’m fine. Sorry. Probably should have led with that. I’m just visiting someone.”

“Who?”

“Sheriff Haught. She, um… got hurt on a call, and I found out and came to visit.”

She wondered if he would ask her why, but to her relief, he didn’t seem to question it.

“Is she alright? Do you want me to meet you there?” he asked instead.

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s just burns and bruises, but I think they’re hurting her a lot, and I think it’s helping to have someone visiting, to distract her.”

“Oh. That’s really sweet of you. You really _are_ the nicest person in Purgatory.”

Waverly forced a weak laugh.

“Yep, that’s me. So you’re not mad?”

“That you’re visiting someone in the hospital? No, of course not. Just call me when you’re free, okay? We can reschedule.”

“Thanks, Per. You’re the best. Really.”

“Tell her hi from me, okay?”

“Sure. I’m just going to head back there now.”

They said their goodbyes, and Waverly stowed the phone away, thanking her lucky stars that Perry was the most understanding guy in the entire world. She still felt a tiny wave of guilt from having to cancel, but there was a tiny thrill of anticipation, too.

She re-entered the hospital with almost a skip in her step, heading back towards the sheriff’s room.

As she leaned back in, she saw Sheriff Haught, her smile long gone, apparently trying to rearrange her pillows into a more comfortable position, using only her uninjured arm. It didn’t seem to be going well.

Waverly cleared her throat quietly. As Haught looked up, her face went from startled to confused to— _there it was_ — relieved.

“Hey again. Did you… forget something?” Haught asked, her expression still a little guarded, like she was trying not to get her hopes up.

“No, um… Funny story, Perry called while I was out in the parking lot and canceled.”

“On _you_?” Haught asked, as though such a thing was _unimaginable_. Waverly smiled, suddenly feeling several degrees warmer than before.

“I’m not the _Queen_ ,” Waverly said, with a small giggle. “But basically, it means that I can stay for a little while. If you want company.”

Haught sat up straighter, like someone had lifted a weight from her shoulders.

“Yeah, of course, absolutely,” she said quickly.

“Great. So… Where do you want me to sit?” Waverly awkwardly gestured around the room. There were some chairs by the door, and other chairs by the bedside.

“Oh, anywhere you want is fine.”

After a moment of hesitation, Waverly chose to perch on an empty spot at the foot of the bed.

“Is this okay?” she asked cautiously, but Haught looked delighted by her choice.

“Of course. You’re welcome in my bed anytime.”

“Well, more like _on_ your bed, right?” Waverly corrected her automatically.

“Yep, that too.” Haught said quickly, then abruptly changed the subject, holding up one of the books. “Thanks again for bringing these.” As she moved, a single, rebellious lock of red hair slipped forward, brushing against the fresh burn and making her cringe. She instinctively started raising her injured arm to brush it back, but must have realized her mistake and raised the other one instead.

“Are you okay?” Waverly asked, as Haught carefully guided the strands back into place.

“Yep,” the redhead said, her voice a little tight with discomfort. “Keeps doing that every few minutes, but I can’t tie it back with my arm like this. Just my luck.” She attempted a wry smile, but it didn’t quite hide the pain in her eyes.

“Oh, I could—” Waverly started to offer, then paused, wondering if it was overstepping. She tried to dismiss the thought. It was just common courtesy, that was all. With a small shake of her head, she fished a spare hair tie out of her pocket and held it up. “Here. I could tie it back for you.”

Haught’s eyes went soft with hope, making Waverly wonder if it had been bothering her more than she was letting on, or if it was just that all the helplessness was getting to her.

“Really? You wouldn’t mind?” she asked. “It wouldn’t matter, but the burn is really sensitive, and it just won’t stay back for some reason.”

“Of course. No big deal.”

Hesitantly, almost shyly, the sheriff scooted closer and turned around so that Waverly had access to her hair. It was bright against the deep blue tank top, and Waverly reached for it, gathering the strands back to begin the process, very careful to avoid touching too near the burn mark.

“I’ll just… braid it. Okay?” Waverly said. Sure, she _could_ just tie it back in a ponytail and be done with it, but a braid would definitely keep it out of her face better, and keep it from getting even more mussed while she slept. It was just practical, really.

“Yeah, that sounds perfect.”

As Waverly finished gathering the red silk of her hair back, her fingers brushed against the back of her neck, and she heard a sharp intake of breath. Haught tried to cover it immediately with a small cough and a nervous chuckle.

“Sorry. Must be ticklish,” she claimed, unconvincingly.

“Sorry,” Waverly echoed, letting her get away with it.

She continued steadily, parting the hair three ways and winding them together. Her hair was soft and fine, and it felt nice in her hands. But the more interesting sensation was where her hands rested against her neck and back. With each passing second, she could feel the muscles growing softer and softer under her hands, like the gentle motions were leaching away all their tension. Haught’s head and shoulders drooped, millimeter by millimeter, as she sank into full relaxation.

Waverly paused, and Haught twitched her head, clearly wanting to turn around and see why she had stopped.

“Something wrong?” she asked, and Waverly was stunned by the sound of her voice. She had never heard it so soft and vulnerable.

“Uh, no, I just… I think I messed up one of the braid… things…”

“Oh.” There was a beat or two of silence. “You could just… start over…?” Haught suggested, her voice shot through with poorly-concealed hope. Waverly almost said it wasn’t necessary, that it was such a tiny mistake that it would be easy to undo it and just keep going. She was over halfway done already, it would be silly to start over…

“Yeah, that might be easiest.” She began undoing all her progress, combing the hair straight again with her fingers. Haught sighed softly as she worked, and even gave a tiny, involuntary hum of pleasure as she gently raked back along her scalp, gathering the hair back for a second attempt.

Waverly worked more slowly this time. She tried to make sure that each section of hair was perfectly even, that each twist was perfectly balanced. This would be the perfect braid, even if it took her all night.

And even if for some reason she seemed to have less room to work by the second.

She was bewildered by the phenomenon until she realized its cause— Haught leaning back into her hands, either consciously or unconsciously gravitating towards the contact. This close, even over the smell of the outdoors and the overly sanitized smell of the hospital, Waverly could detect a hint of vanilla.

It was oddly peaceful, the slow rhythm of it in the quiet room. And oddly intimate, sitting that close for that long, fingers weaving her hair into place and resting against the warmth of her back.

Despite her best efforts, the braid was done in a matter of minutes.

Her task complete, Waverly hesitated, then laid her palms flat against Haught’s back. This seemed to trigger some sort of release, and she could feel the other woman sink back with a near-silent sigh, leaning gratefully into her support. Waverly could feel the softened muscles under her fingertips, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the steady heartbeat under her palm. A strange instinct washed over her, to slide her hands forward until they met, nestling her head into the nook between her shoulders and holding her from behind. To cuddle into her and whisper empty promises that she was safe and she wouldn’t be left alone and everything would be alright.

It was such a strange instinct, and so backwards. It almost felt… protective. But she was just a glorified waitress, in what universe would _she_ protect the town sheriff?

Silly thoughts.

“Okay,” Waverly said after a moment of rest. “It should stay back now.”

Haught inched a little away from her and turned to face her, slowly blinking her way back into awareness. In this state, her face was fully unmasked, every emotion on full display. Relief. Gratitude. Affection. Longing. All laid bare for the world and Waverly to see.

Their eyes connected for just a second, and Waverly could barely breathe from the sudden rush of feeling. It was like she was reaching straight into her soul. But then the mask came back up, just enough to smooth Haught’s expressive face into something more generic, less open. Haught cleared her throat quickly.

“Done already?” she asked, and despite her efforts, her voice was still raw with emotion— in this case, thinly veiled disappointment. Waverly wasn’t sure how to respond. She had dragged the process out as long as she reasonably could. And as tempting as it sounded to just sit there all night, winding and unwinding the braid on a loop, she couldn’t imagine actually suggesting such a thing.

“Yep. Is it better?”

“Yeah. Much better. Thank you.”

Her whole body seemed to loll now, as though the nervous tension had been the only thing lending her the energy to stay upright. Now that she had relaxed, she seemed on the verge of collapse.

“You look tired,” Waverly murmured. “You should rest.”

Haught shook her head, even as she clearly blinked away sleep.

“Not yet,” she murmured.

“Okay…” A silence fell over the room, not awkward, but heavy in some other way. Grasping for a reason to stay awake, Haught picked up the two books from the side table, eyes roaming over their covers and the descriptions on the back.

“Why these?” she asked.

Waverly tried to get a better view of the books, but there was no good way for them to both look at the same time without one of them being forced to read upside-down. She took them from Haught’s hands, over her murmur of protest.

“Lie down,” she commanded in as authoritative a voice as she could muster. The sheriff must have been as tired as she looked, because she didn’t even bother putting up token resistance this time. She shuffled down under the blankets, careful of her injured side, and settled in. The blanket bunched awkwardly over her injured arm, and Waverly plucked at the corner, tugging it smooth. The sheriff’s eyes seemed to track her hand as it hovered over her body. “I picked this one in case you were bored and wanted to keep your mind busy. It’s about the history and lore of the Ghost River Triangle. It’s really interesting, but almost no one in town bothers learning about it. And then this other one is just in case you wanted something a little mindless. But… I wasn’t sure if it was really your style.”

Haught eyed the cover with amusement. It had a burly cowboy of a man on the front, holding a much smaller woman who was wearing his cowboy hat.

“It’s not, really, but it was a nice thought. And who knows, maybe I _would_ end up liking it if I gave it a chance. They _do_ have a nice hat.”

“Well, we can set that one aside for now.” Waverly moved the paperback back to the side table and shifted a little, sitting up against the headboard, getting comfortable on the thin mattress. She propped the history book up on her knees. “This one’s really good. It starts with the history of the Assiniboine and the Cree, and then the whiskey and fur traders, the Mounties, the railroads...” She glanced down and saw that the brown eyes watching her were slightly lost already. “Hm… Maybe I should just start with the introduction.”

She wasn’t _quite_ reading aloud to the town sheriff like she was a toddler who needed a bedtime story, but she _did_ find herself summarizing each chapter and pulling relevant quotes as she went, while her injured companion listened in relative silence. About a third of the way in, as they started to reach the relevant Earp-adjacent part of the narrative, she looked down at the sheriff, whose eyes were closed.

“And from there, you probably know the rest. The lizard people came up from their underground tunnels and founded Purgatory so that they’d have a good place to get pizza and maybe build a water park.”

“I’m still awake,” Haught murmured, her lips curled into an amused smile, her eyes still closed.

“Just checking.”

She went on with the book, but within about fifteen minutes, the sheriff’s breathing had grown louder and deeper, and Waverly didn’t need to make up gibberish to tell that she was sound asleep.

She could have left at that point. Maybe she _should_ have left at that point. But there was something hypnotic about the steady sound of breathing next to her in the bed, like something she had heard a long time ago. It made something in her chest seem to unclench, and the worries somehow evaporated from her mind, making her feel lighter and more relaxed than she had in ages.

So she stayed, continuing to pointlessly summarize the text to her sleeping companion and occasionally pausing to listen to the slow, steady breathing. There was something so… familiar about it, but unfamiliar. Nostalgic, almost. Like something old, or something from a recurring dream that she could never quite remember. But it felt… nice. It was a nice sound— even when Haught shifted her head and the breathing turned into quiet snoring for several minutes until she moved back with a snuffle. Even that was oddly cute. Oddly comforting.

When the ten-minute warning about the end of visiting hours came over the intercom, she felt startled that she had stayed for so long, and more startled at the thought that now she would have to _leave_. For some reason, she just had the urge to shift down on the bed, mirroring the sleeping body next to her, and drift to sleep herself.

Shaking her head, she set the book down on the side table and eased herself up, her body stiff and clumsy from so long in the same position. There was a noise from behind her, and when she turned back to the bed, the sheriff’s arm was stretched out, grasping at the warm spot she had just occupied.

She almost went back. She almost covered the hand with hers and whispered reassurances. But she had already stayed too long, already overstepped whatever tentative friendship existed between her and the sheriff. There was nowhere to go from here. There was nothing to do but leave.

She hesitated in the doorway, then looked back just for a moment, taking in the sight, the sleeping woman, the hand reaching out. Then, finally, regretfully, she left.

After all, Perry was probably waiting up for her.


End file.
